


Race

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-20 18:57:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21061565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Chekov tries to one-up Rand.





	Race

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The door whisks open, and Pavel struts through with confidence. He holds the tray of food at chest level, proud of how flawlessly arrayed it is: he’s sure he’s replicated Yeoman Rand’s tray exactly. Except he’s ten minutes earlier than she usually delivers it. He could’ve just asked to deliver it for her, but that would be too conspicuous—it’ll be easier to get it done, then have Hikaru himself report that he no longer needs her assistance. After all, he has Pavel, the best friend and maybe _more_ in all the known universe. And Janice could never compete with Russian perfection. 

Some of the plants perk up at Pavel’s entrance, which is unsettling but not new. A few even strain towards him, especially the green-pink monstrosity that takes up much of the main flowerbed. It arches forward, petals unfurling and stretching wide. Pavel does a quick sweep of the room in the hopes of spotting Hikaru, but Hikaru doesn’t seem to be around. That’s fine. He’s probably just in the adjacent washroom, and he’ll surely reappear in time to see Pavel casually being awesome.

Coming around to set the tray on the table, Pavel starts with the salt. He’s not exactly sure _what_ he’s supposed to do with that, but if he shakes it out first before Hikaru sees, then Hikaru will be forced to assume that Pavel did whatever he was supposed to with it. He turns back to Gertrude and starts liberally shaking the salt onto her. 

She splutters and starts flailing, enough that Pavel stops. A high-pitched squeal comes out of nowhere, and Pavel reels back in shock, dropping the salt to the ground. It hits the floor with a loud smashing noise and shatters. The washroom door slides open, and Hikaru bursts out with wide-eyes. 

He takes in the whole scene, from Pavel to the plant to the broken shaker. Then he snatches up the pepper grinder and pours some over Gertrude, who quivers and accepts it with a satisfied mewl. A bit of violent trembling, and Gertrude stabilizes, blooming properly and staying there. Hikaru turns his gaze to Pavel, who’s torn between shrinking back and spouting denial.

He winds up just blushing and muttering, “I... sorry... I thought—”

“What’re you doing?” Hikaru asks. Expression puzzled, he glances at the tray of food. Pavel shuffles his feet guiltily.

“I was just trying to help... I know Janice sometimes comes by and feeds your monst—plants... so...”

“No, sometimes she brings food to _me_, because she’s a good friend and knows I’m often too busy with these guys to make it down to the mess hall.”

Pavel mumbles, “Oh.” He should probably leave it at that. Except he also says, “I am a much better friend.”

Hikaru _stares_, then snorts and rolls his eyes. Pavel can feel his cheeks heating even more. “What? I am!”

“It’s not a contest.”

Pavel scowls, but not at Hikaru; he’s just annoyed in general. He really thought he was about to earn major brownie points. 

Hikaru shakes his head and asks, a hint of laughter in his melodic voice, “Alright. Do you want to know how you could actually help?”

Pavel doesn’t hesitate to snap, “Da.”

“Then come here.” Pavel does. He steps right up to Hikaru’s side and lets Hikaru clasp his wrist. Hikaru’s hand slides down the back of Pavel’s, palm smoothing over his knuckles, fingers threading through his. Hikaru lifts Pavel’s hand to Gertrude and guides him through a gentle stroking motion. Hikaru murmurs, “Just pet her. She likes that.”

It’s an odd sensation. Gertrude’s textured like wrinkly fabric, and her petals look too finger-like for comfort. The pink tufts on the end are like thin plastic and feathers , all prone to unpredictable movement. But for Hikaru’s sake, Pavel strokes her base. He still mutters, “It’s weird.”

Hikaru pats his hip and insists, “You’re doing great.” A smile cracks the corner of Pavel’s lips. Hikaru pecks his cheek and says, “Thanks for the lunch,” and sits down to eat.


End file.
